


Neck Deep in this Bruising

by MajorAccent



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aftercare, Barebacking, Biting, Bondage, Bottom!Lance, Dom Keith (Voltron), Dom/sub, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rough Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, sub lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-03 08:07:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11528085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorAccent/pseuds/MajorAccent
Summary: “You know how we’re trapped for the foreseeable future? Here? In outer space?” Lance asks, throwing his thumb over his shoulder to point at the huge windows that show distant stars and galaxies drift past.“Kind of hard to miss, yeah.” Keith nods, going along with it. Something tells him if he’s an ass about this, Lance will just shut down even more and close off every line of communication they already have. He doesn’t want to revert back to childish bickering and snide remarks at every turn.“Okay, so.” Lance says and sits up right, forcing his posture out of his natural slouch, hands clenched into fists in the extra fabric of his sleeves. “Uhm, it’s. Getting to me?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from [Hieu Minh Nguyen's poem "I-94."](http://acespaceacepilot.tumblr.com/post/158301795821/and-i-want-to-say-im-laying-in-the-road)
> 
> I was going to tag sexual crying too, but there wasn't already a tag for that and like hell will I be the person to create that tag. But yeah, Lance cries a little bit during everything because he's overwhelmed.

“Can I ask you for a favor?” Lance broaches when they’re alone in a random sitting room, all false bravado and confidence.  
  
Keith raises an eyebrow, a silent acknowledgment.  
  
But Lance isn’t looking at him anymore, head bowed and staring at the hands in his lap. Aside from the twitch of Lance’s fingers and the too stiff line of his shoulders, Keith wouldn’t be able to guess that something is bothering Lance.  
  
“Uh…” Lance says and jerks his head back up. “Promise you won’t get mad?” He asks, trying to school himself back into a picture of unbothered relaxation.  
  
Keith’s eyes flicker over him, trying to determine where this conversation could go. Knowing Lance, it could range in roping Keith into the latest prank war between him and Pidge to getting tips on hand-to-hand combat. “Why would I get mad?” He settles on, not entirely ready to sign off on whatever idea Lance is trying to present.  
  
Lance shrugs. “It doesn’t involve anyone else,” he says, trying to assuage Keith’s skepticism. “It would just be you and me. Just, uh. Just us, no one else.” He rambles, stalling.  
  
“Okay,” Keith nods, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “What do you want, Lance?”  
  
“Could you…” Lance starts and stops. He tucks his hands under his thighs before he thinks better of it and rubs his hands over his face. “Jesus Christ, this is so messed up.” He mutters to himself.  
  
Keith keeps quiet, letting Lance take a deep breath to steady himself.  
  
“You know how we’re trapped for the foreseeable future? Here? In outer space?” Lance asks, throwing his thumb over his shoulder to point at the huge windows that show distant stars and galaxies drift past.  
  
“Kind of hard to miss, yeah.” Keith nods, going along with it. Something tells him if he’s an ass about this, Lance will just shut down even more and close off every line of communication they already have. He doesn’t want to revert back to childish bickering and snide remarks at every turn.  
  
“Okay, so.” Lance says and sits up right, forcing his posture out of his natural slouch, hands clenched into fists in the extra fabric of his sleeves. “Uhm, it’s. Getting to me?”  
  
Keith’s mouth presses into a line, and though he was trying to wait Lance out, his patience is still wearing thin. “What do you _want_ , Lance?” He repeats, still steadily staring at him.  
  
“I want you to tie me up and use me,” Lance rushes out and immediately deflates, hands covering his face again. “Oh my god,” he’s moaning to himself miserably. “I don’t even know if that’s something you’d be into, but there’s a very short list of people available, period.”  
  
“What?” Keith manages after he processes what Lance wants from him.  
  
“What to what?” Lance parrots back, voice pitched incredulous and high. “What to that being what I need from you or what to the fact that I made a mental list?”  
  
“What do you mean by use you?” Keith asserts on a growl, cutting through Lance’s deflections.  
  
Lance’s mouth clamps shut at that as a vicious blush paints his cheeks and ears a bright red. “You know, like… Use me. To get off. You don’t need to be gentle about it, I don’t even need to get off during it if you’d prefer that, but.” He flaps his hands around, trying to come up with an explanation that sounds thought out. He honestly didn’t even think it would get this far. “It would shut my mind up. For a little while, at least. And I need that. I can’t get more than a few hours of sleep at night anymore and I don’t want that to affect the team.”  
  
“So your solution,” Keith begins, rolling the thought around in his head. “Is to get fucked to the point where you can’t think anymore. Just so I’m clear on this.”  
  
Lance’s face crumples at that, the bluntness from Keith forcing him to hear how it actually sounds. “Look,” he fumbles. “I never said it was the healthiest coping strategy.”  
  
“Who else was on your list?” Keith asks instead, ignoring Lance’s self-deprecation.  
  
Lance’s head ducks down again. “Like I said, there’s a short list of people available for this,” he answers. “Hunk is basically my brother, I’ve literally seen him eat sand on a playground. I would never ask this of him,” Lance explains, and his twitching hands are back. “Pidge is Pidge... I’m pretty sure they’re ace and aromantic, but, like, also I want someone I know can hold me down.”  
  
Keith ignores that comment, because he knows for a fact that Pidge fights dirty and would find a way to hold someone down if they needed to.  
  
“I don’t want to even think about Coran in a sexual context, ever. He’s basically our wacky uncle.” Lance continues, a disgusted shiver rolling down his spine. “I wouldn’t even ask the princess about this.”  
  
“Which leaves either me or Shiro,” Keith concludes.  
  
Lance shrugs. “Shiro is a last ditch effort. I don’t think there’s any reality where that would actually happen,” he admits, but his eyes get glassy as he looks off, imagining it.  
  
Keith can’t help it, a flare of jealousy ignites in his gut at that even though he has no right to be possessive of Lance. “How do you want to do this?” He asks, breaking Lance’s train of thought. “There need to be some ground rules.”  
  
“Absolutely,” Lance is nodding vigorously. “I, uh. I made a checklist,” he says and pats down the inner lining of his jacket and pulls out a tattered pocket-sized notepad.  
  
“Have you done this before?” Keith asks, eyeing Lance as he flips through the pages to get to the right one.  
  
Lance goes still again, gaze flicking up between his list and where Keith is currently seated. He half-shrugs one of his shoulders. “Enough to know it works for me,” he says. “But nothing like this.” He rereads the checklist, squinting at one of the words where his handwriting went sloppy. “What about you?” Lance asks. “Ever done anything like this before?” His tone is light, trying to be funny, but there’s a real edge to it. Like Lance is suddenly realizing how in over his head he is by asking Keith for this out of the blue.  
  
“Why did you come to me first?” Keith asks instead of answering his question.  
  
Lance’s mouth twists up as he thinks of an answer. “I trust you,” he quietly admits. “And I know you have no issue getting rough with me.”  
  
Keith smirks at that, a huff of laughter leaving his nose. “I’ve done this before,” he confirms Lance’s sneaking suspicion, but doesn’t explain further than that. Doesn’t tell him that he likes the control it gives him, the power that his partner willing gives up. He leans forward and nods to Lance. “Tell me about your list.”

 

— • —

  
Lance is acutely aware of his breathing; it's the only thing he can hear in the overwhelming silence of the spare bedroom. He shifts, parts his knees even more and tries to slow his breathing as he comes to terms with how exposed he feels. The vulnerability of feeling Keith's eyes on him and how fucking hot it makes him, makes a violent shiver barrel down the notches in his spine.  
  
"Fucking look at you," Keith rasps out, voice deep and rough. "All spread out and waiting, wanting to get stretched thin and used."  
  
Lance's face heats and he pushes his cheek harder into the mattress. He asked for this, but that doesn’t mean that shame doesn’t bloom hot in his gut. He wants to hide, wants to roll onto his side and burrow under the sheets. But he can’t, with his hands bound at the small of his back he wouldn’t get far on his own. And he’d much rather peer into the space between his own thighs, watch as Keith's already moving closer to the bed, palming his cock through his jeans.

  
"Keith—" Lance whines, going to beg for something, anything; he cuts off with a jolt and startled gasp, more surprised at the blunt force rather than the sting of a hand coming down on his ass.  
  
"Who said you were allowed to talk?" Keith questions in a quiet and dangerous voice, clamping a hand on the juncture of Lance's shoulder and neck, giving a warning squeeze before he pulls back again, leaving Lance untethered and ungrounded without that physical connection.  
  
The sound climbs out of the back of Lance's throat, whimpering broken and needy and Keith just laughs at him in response. His heart's already doing double-time, but it ratchets up another notch as he hears the metallic jingle of Keith undoing his belt. The leather slides through steel and the tell-tale sound of a zipper being pulled down rasps in the quietness of the room as Lance strains to hear anything above his own panting and the rabbit-quick beating in his chest.  
  
Lance struggles to balance on his shoulder enough to press his chin into his chest so he can see past his own legs to Keith as he pushes the denim only far down enough to free his cock, the jeans pooling at the crux of his knees. His hands flex and unclench as he fights not to squirm, but the thought of getting fucked while completely naked with Keith still more than half dressed forces an ache into his bones as he arches and his hole clenches down on nothing. He wants to call out again, urge and beg and plead to be filled, but he can't. He wants to follow Keith's orders, to be rewarded for being good; the teasing and barely there touching would stop and Keith would leave him all alone just to spite him.  
  
He _knows_ it, Keith warned him.  
  
Keith sinks his thumb into Lance easily, the digit sliding in with no resistance. "Fuck," Keith mutters again, twisting his hand before pulling his thumb out. "Got yourself ready and everything, probably didn't even care who walked in." And Lance’s mouth drops open to correct him, wants to tell him it ’s not true, that he was really only thinking of Keith for this.  
  
But Keith shoves two fingers into him, scissoring them apart immediately without warning, testing how open Lance is and the only thing Lance’s mouth is good for is taking in a loud, willowy breath. Keith hums in quiet appreciation, thrusting leisurely before stuffing Lance full with three fingers up to the knuckle, his thumb snug and pressing along his perineum.  
  
Lance clenches down, sobbing at the sensation as Keith's fingers curl harshly and punch over and over into his prostate. "Fuck—" He cries and bites the comforter under him, because he knows he hasn’t gotten permission to run his mouth yet, shoulders shaking as his toes curl in an effort not to rut back into Keith's hand.  
  
Another chuckle leaves Keith as he screws his fingers in and out of Lance, sure to tap against his prostate with every pass. "Think you could cum like this?" He asks, close enough that his breath fans out against Lance's ass where he's wet and gaping. "Desperate enough to get off with just a few fingers in your needy fucking hole?"  
  
"I—" Lance grits out before he remembers himself, remembers that Keith hasn’t explicitly told him he could talk. He inhales in a sucking whoosh, catching his breath as Keith presses his fingers as deep as they'll go and keeps them tucked up into him.  
  
Keith cups his ass cheek, holds him open impossibly wider as he blows a stream of cold air down from the bottom of his spine to his hole. "Answer me," Keith tells him, voice sounding unaffected and patient. "Go on, that’s an order."  
  
"Keith," Lance whines, tears prickling and clinging to his eyelashes. "I don't think—I can't, I _can't_."  
  
"Shhhh," Keith hushes him, petting his other hand down Lance's back. “You want more?” He asks and curls his fingers against Lance’s prostate, rhythmically pressing rather than shoving into him. “Another finger?”  
  
“Your cock,” Lance urges, too keyed up and eager to do anything but beg, the usually persistent shame pulled out from under him. “Want your cock, please.”  
  
Keith draws back, easing his fingers out before he jams both of his thumbs into Lance and spreads him wide.  
  
Lance knows it's coming, clenches up at the thought alone, but nothing can compare to the beat of nothingness and anticipation before Keith audibly spits and the warm wetness drops straight down into him. He whines, quiet and on edge as precum drips out of him, feeling Keith pull back and tap the pad of his thumb against his slack rim, making him writhe.  
  
“Stop that,” Keith commands and draws away completely, leaving Lance on the bed completely prone.  
  
“Wait,” Lance calls out, struggling to pick himself up enough to look for Keith. “Please—I need you, please.”  
  
Keith’s hands tug at Lance’s thighs, pulling up his hips up and away from the mattress—throwing off his center of gravity, before he touches Lance’s shoulder and presses him into the exact pose he wants, and if Lance were in another headspace he would crack a joke about being face down and ass up. But instead, a whimper bubbles out wetly from his throat and he tucks his face against the pillow Keith was kind enough to leave him, trying to muffle his noises.  
  
“None of that,” Keith instructs firmly, flicking Lance’s tailbone meanly and making him yowl at the sudden spike of blunt pain. “You’re getting exactly what you wanted, remember?” He rubs the spot immediately after, soothing the hurt before he pulls away again.  
  
Lance breathes and counts each inhale and exhale, tries not to wail with how hollow and needy he feels without Keith’s hands on him.  
  
But Keith doesn’t want to give it to him that easily. He traces his nails feather-light over Lance’s shoulder blades, making his breathing hitch as Keith moves back up and makes a twin pattern on the crux of Lance’s arms. “I love seeing you like this, you know,” Keith murmurs and charts the line between the length of leather and Lance’s bony wrists. “Pinned and tied up,” he explains and rubs at the redness that’s already blooming on Lance’s tanned skin. “Trusting me to get you off.”  
  
“ _Hnng_ ,” Lance keens, high and shaking. He squirms and Keith pulls away from him again. “Keith—please, fuck—Fuck me, pleasepleaseplease— _Keith_.” He’s begging now, too strung out to be careful or even aware that he’s breaking a command.  
  
Lance earns another laugh and Keith’s touch goes harder, grip tight at the crisscross of leather and Lance’s wrists. “Okay, okay,” Keith chides and gives a squeeze, grounding him.  
  
The bed shifts, mattress dipping as Keith shifts forward and Lance only has enough time to get his breath back before the blunt pressure of Keith’s cock presses against his hole.  
  
But Keith doesn’t press in, only fits the cockhead over Lance’s gaping opening. With his free hand, he cups the straining line of Lance’s inner thigh, feeling it quake and tremble under his palm.  
  
“Well, go on, then.” Keith says, scratching over the thin skin of Lance’s hip. “Fuck yourself on my cock, show me how much you want it.”  
  
Lance doesn’t move; mind drowning and slow on the uptake. “I—” he starts to say and Keith’s hand lands back on Lance’s thigh, jolting him with a stinging slap.  
  
“I said,” Keith starts and drags Lance back by his bound wrists, the head of his dick steadfast and hot against the flushed rim. “Show me how much you want to get fucked by my cock.”  
  
There’s not enough support in his position, Lance is overbalanced and prone and Keith’s hand is keeping his shoulders pressed down; he sways his hips and grinds back and desperately tries to shove back far enough to get Keith inside of him. The fabric shuffles under his knees as Lance struggles to get more than just the head in.  
  
“That all you got?” Keith asks, watching Lance grapple for enough leverage. “I know you can do better than that.”  
  
Lance whines and fire hot shame scorches down his limbs as he grits his teeth and new tears clump his eyelashes. He clenches his hands and feels the burn in his thighs as he pushes back. His breath chokes out of him at the initial thrust, the entire length sliding into the hilt in one stuttering, over-confident motion.  
  
The denim from Keith’s jeans is startling rough on the back of his thighs, reminding Lance of where he is and who’s with him.  
  
It’s nothing like the gentle rocking that he works himself open with,  fucking in a slow rhythm and drawing back in an easy stretch that works up to the full length. It makes Lance falter and mewl, forces him to pause as he gets used to the feeling of being filled up too quickly.  
  
He can feel Keith’s eyes on him, looking at where Lance is speared open on his cock. But he knows that he hasn’t done what Keith’s asked, Lance hasn’t even come close to proving that he wants to be fucked; too strung out on the feeling of Keith being seated inside him, Lance can’t get his bearings enough to actually move. He takes another centering breath and ignores the creak in his knees and the soreness in his thighs and calves as he starts moving his hips in a tight circle.  
  
“See?” Keith says above him, both his hands moving to wrap around Lance’s hips. “Look at you, fuck. Knew you could do it.”  
  
He lets Lance set his own, sluggish pace, not offering any type of help as he grips the looped straps of leather. It’s not enough to get either of them off, too stilted and jagged and slow and it’s driving Lance up a fucking wall.  
  
“Please, Keith,” Lance gasps out, his hands flexing as he tries to touch Keith’s arm.  
  
Keith leans down, knowingly forcing his cock deeper and putting his weight on Lance.  “What was that?” He murmurs against the nape of Lance’s neck, drawing his nose against his hairline. “I can’t hear you.”  
  
Lance whines, chest heaving with frustration because he can’t move with Keith pressed against him like this. “Keith,” he repeats, voice shaking and frail. “Holy fuck, sweet Jesus. For the love of god, _do something_.”  
  
“Yeah?” Keith hums, sunk down to the root and seemingly content to stay there as long as Lance was under him and helpless. “You want it?”  
  
“Keith,” Lance sobs. His whole body is a heated live-wire, teetering on the edge of too much and not enough, mind stretched thin and body taut. “I need—shit, I need it. Please, please, please, _fuck—_ ”  
  
Lance rasps and cuts himself off as Keith levers himself up and pulls out of Lance and thrusts back inside in a fluid circuit. The rhythm of it is slow and dirty and Lance’s mouth drops open as he breathes through it, going limp and languid in Keith’s grip as he sinks into the feeling of being filled, being forced to take it any way that Keith wants to give it to him.  
  
“There you are,” Keith murmurs above him, tugging on Lance’s wrists and hitching his hips higher so he can sink deeper into him. Lance’s face is pressed against the bedspread still, eyes half open and slack-jawed as he makes quiet noises. “Getting exactly what you want now, aren’t you?” He taunts, knowing full well what Lance really wants from him.  
  
“Fucking—” Lance curses and his fingertips brush against Keith’s forearm, nails biting into his skin. He’s pent up and frustrated, because he knows neither of them can cum like this, that Keith is just teasing and winding Lance tighter until he cracks. “Keith, fuck, please.”  
  
Keith doesn’t even falter as he slows down, the drag of his cock creeping to a crawl. “You want more?” He questions, voice cloying with molasses, unhurried and easy.  
  
“Yes,” Lance squawks, indignant and undignified. “Yes, yes, please, _yes_ —Keith!” His breath is noisy again, rapid and huffing and heavy.  
  
“Then ask me,” Keith hums, pressing his thumb into the popping vein of Lance’s wrist. “Ask me nicely.”  
  
“Fuck me,” Lance pleads, inhibitions forgotten and the shyness he usually had during sex sheds away as he gets to the point of no return. “Please fuck me,” he gets out in a wet slur, his dick throbbing as it leaks in a steady stream, a sticky thread of precum between the head of his cock and the growing puddle on the sheets between his legs. “Please, please, fuck me, please.” He’s writhing in Keith’s grip now, trying to get any type of friction. “I can’t—please, fuck me already.”  
  
Keith rewards him with a slow drag of his nails down Lance’s spine, a quiet pant of laughter from above. His other hand leaves Lance’s wrists, both returning to the crease of his ass. He spreads Lance again, looking at the flushed hole stretched around his cock, fingers digging in hard enough to cause bruises later. “Keep going,” he encourages. “I like hearing you beg.”  
  
Lance wails, tensed and strung out. “Please, Keith,” he’s crying gently, eyelashes wetting with every blink. “Please, I need you. I need you to fuck me.”  
  
“Listen to yourself,” Keith murmurs and bottoms out in Lance again. He skirts his thumb around the rim of Lance’s hole, feeling it flutter as he clenches around Keith’s cock and Lance chokes above, thinking that Keith’s going to slide his finger in alongside his cock.  
  
Lance is drowning, chokes on air when Keith grabs him by his restraints and snaps his hips forward, fucking into Lance with an unrelenting rhythm. His arms get pulled even further back, Keith keeping Lance from sliding across the sheets from the force of his thrusts. It’s exactly what he needs, the ruthless pace making his lungs heave and stretches his skin tight to bursting.  
  
His mind is roaring, everything blurring out with the building, stabbing pleasure as Keith fucks into him. His knees shake, ready to give out under the onslaught, but Lance doesn’t want to miss out on the achingly intense feeling of getting used and filled.  
  
He can’t handle it; it’s too much and his mind overloads with the sensory input: his blood rushing in his ears, the never ending stream of bitten off, hurt noises he’s making, the obscenely loud sound of Keith’s hips meeting his ass.  
  
Lance doesn’t even realize Keith’s slowed to a stop until the weight shifts and he’s flattened into the mattress, Keith blanketing him with his forearms bracketing Lance’s shoulders. “You still with me?” He asks, voice gentler and close to Lance’s ear. A hand drags through Lance’s hair, fingertips massaging his scalp.  
  
“Lance?” He prompts when he doesn’t get a response.  
  
“I―” Lance manages before his throat clicks with dryness. He can’t think past the line of heat where their skin is meeting, pressing him down, caging him in, where Keith is still seated in him. Lance can’t form words, only whines and clenches, too strung out to go beyond that bone-deep desire to cum.  
  
“Hey,” Keith says, voice firm and cutting. “Do you need me to stop?” He asks. “What’s your color right now?”  
  
Lance draws in a deep breath, tries to focus in on the feel of the sheets underneath him, twitches his fingers and counts them as he bounces each one on the pads of his thumbs. “Green,” he says, finally gathering up his mind to rub enough brain cells together to be cognitive of what’s happening here.  
  
Keith presses a kiss against Lance’s shoulder blade, where the muscle and skin in bunched. “Do you want me to undo your arms?” He asks, still stock still. “You were crying for a little bit,”  
  
Lance shakes his head, knows that the belt isn’t too tight, that there’s still circulation because his fingers haven’t fallen asleep yet. “No,” he reaffirms, knowing that Keith wants a verbal answer beyond simple gestures and signals. “Keep going.”  
  
“What’s your safe word?” Keith asks, knowing to err on the side of too careful and double check with Lance rather than press on and break him.  
  
“Spicolian,” Lance answers immediately.  
  
Keith shifts his weight to one arm so he can take Lance’s chin in his hand. It’s a struggle to kiss in this position, more of a brush of lips and sharing of air, but it’s enough to make Lance arch and rut into the sheets that he’s soaked with his precum, the friction against his neglected cock making his mouth drop open.  
  
And any semblance of softness disappears as Keith levers himself back up onto his knees, an arm shoved under Lance’s waist to wrench him back into position. “You _know_ you weren’t supposed to do that,” Keith hisses from above.  
  
Lance makes a noise of protest, wants to defend himself, but Keith squeezes one of Lance’s ass cheeks firmly in warning. He starts moving again, drawing out and pushing his length back down the hilt in a slow slide. “You know what you get for that?” Keith asks without breaking stride, hips still pistoning in a fluid motion. “You’re either going to cum on my cock or not at all.” He grabs Lance by the thighs, anchoring him in place as the pace builds again.  
  
“ _Keith_ ―” Lance whines, breath hitching and needy. He can’t, clenches and arches his back, trying to get Keith deeper. He knows Keith’s avoiding his prostate, stringing him along without hope for release. “Keith, please,” he cries, fresh tears swimming and swirling his vision. “I can’t, I can’t―you have to touch me, please.”  
  
“Don’t deserve it,” Keith states plainly, the short, clipped answer the only sign that this is affecting him.  
  
Lance goes post-verbal after that, the only sounds leaving him are inarticulate whines and moans as Keith keeps driving and fucking into him with the same intensity. Distantly, he can appreciate that the bed is built-in and they don’t have to worry about a bed frame slamming repeatedly into the wall.  
  
Keith’s weight shifts again, dragging denim and the harsh metal of his zipper’s teeth against Lance’s sensitive inner thighs, but more importantly, the change in angle has Keith punching into Lance’s prostate with every stroke in. Lance’s muscles are on fire, his thighs tensed and aching, calves flexed, toes curled so hard that he can feel his bones creaking. Lance eventually bites down on the edge of the pillowcase, muffling his noises as he whimpers.  
  
But god, Keith was right, because this _is_ exactly what he wanted.  
  
Lance’s world narrows down to a few points: the fact that he’s practically hyperventilating with how hard he’s panting, where Keith’s tight grip is holding him down on his wrists and hip, the sweat sticking to the creases of his elbows and knees, to the way Keith’s cock is fucking into him ruthlessly, and how everything about all of this is inexplicably perfect, even down to the fact that Keith doesn’t care if Lance cums or not. It’s definitely a lot, intense and too much and all-consuming, but that doesn’t make it any less good.  
  
He’s caught up in the sensation, teetering on the edge of release. Lance is so close he thinks he might be able to cum untouched. The puddle of precum underneath has soaked through the sheets, his own cock ruddy, closer to purple and twitching with every slide against his prostate.  
  
But Keith pulls out abruptly, leaving Lance to flail and flinch and clench down on nothing. “Please—” he’s gasping wetly, unsure what he’s asking for, he can’t remember what he told Keith about how this should end. But he’s so empty, bereft, his mind’s in a tailspin as Keith starts rutting against the crease of his ass.  
  
The cockhead catches on his sloppy rim, trying to suck Keith back in with every frantic thrust. Both of his hands leave Lance, making Lance grieve the loss because he has nothing to anchor him and he feels like he’s dying from how touch-starved he is in this moment. But Keith’s hands are undoing the belt,  the metallic tinkle of the buckle opening and the leather sliding until it gets tossed to the side. Lance’s wrists are free for a moment before Keith’s pressing them down into the mattress with a squeeze, keeping him pinned.  
  
“Gonna bite you,” Keith pants darkly, getting more and more vocal the closer he gets to cumming. “Mark you up.” He’s leaning over Lance again, his weight toeing the line of being too much and crushing Lance, but it’s good. It’s _so_ good, tethering Lance down as his mind overloads on the sensation of the bones in his wrists protest the pressure and the constant swipes over his raw, bruised hole.  
  
Keith lets go of Lance’s wrists in favor of balancing himself as he brutally snaps his hips forward in rough, short punches. The only way Lance knows that he moved is from the damp puffs of Keith’s breath that are fanning out between his shoulder blades.  
  
“Fuck, fuck,” Keith’s whimpering before he ducks his head down and clamps his teeth down on Lance’s skin to muffle himself before he’s shaking and painting Lance’s lower back. Lance’s back arches at the feel of hot cum marking his skin, outright mewling.  
  
Lance isn’t aware of what happens after that, ears and mind filled with static. Drowsily feels Keith get up from the bed; he knows Keith is trying to talk to him, but he can’t respond, just collapses into his own wet spot and closes his eyes.  
  
“Hey, no,” Keith says more firmly, giving Lance’s shoulder a shake. “I know you want to sleep, but let me clean you up first.” He drags a towel from Lance’s lower back to his hole, and Lance’s hips jerk at the touch, rubbing his still hard cock against the soaked sheets.  
  
Lance distantly knows he makes an embarrassing noise, but all that matters is that Keith asks “Do you want to cum?” and Lance only gets through one nod before Keith is slipping three fingers back into his fucked out and aching hole.  
  
“Oh, fuck. Please, fuck.” Lance begs again, hands clenched in the pillow under his head. His knees are sore and shaking, but he wants the leverage too much, wants to push back onto Keith’s hand. “Please let me cum,” he whines, out of it and still unsure if Keith’s going to actually let him.  
  
“Go ahead, I’ve got you,” Keith murmurs back, voice low and gentle. There’s no resistance, Lance is wide open and wet still. “Did exactly what I told you to do,” he keeps murmuring, a quiet kind of awe tingeing his tone. “Perfect, you were so perfect.”  
  
“I need—” Lance hiccups, face and voice wet. “I need—you have to touch me. I can’t—not without—”  
  
Keith shushes him and presses his thumb against the soft skin behind Lance’s balls, free hand wrapping around Lance’s cock, stroking in a sure, mind-bending motion.  
  
The sound Lance lets out is guttural as his entire body curves, muscles jumping as everything pulls tight and then snaps forward, eyes rolling back, hips torn between thrusting into the tight grip around his cock or shoving back against Keith’s fingers pressed up against his prostate. He tries to moan out Keith’s name, but it’s just a garble of consonants and him choking on his own tongue as he shoots all over the bed and his stomach.  
  
Keith catches him around the waist, pushing him to the side so he doesn’t land in the wet spot again. He grazes the towel over Lance’s spent cock, earning a pitiful groan as he struggles to squirm away.  
  
“Too much,” Lance mumbles out, face already half-tucked against a pillow with his eyes only barely slit open.  
  
“Get some sleep,” Keith commands, finding the extra blanket and covering Lance with it, pushing Lance’s hair off his forehead absentmindedly.  
  
“Stay?” Lance manages, eyes blinking open to look at him, hand blindly swatting at Keith’s knee before latching on and trying to tug him closer.  
  
Keith gives an unimpressed look at the weak display, rolls his eyes even, but follows the prodding. “Okay,” he agrees. “But I get to be the big spoon.”  
  
Lance’s eyes are already closed again, tugging Keith against his chest as if he didn’t hear Keith's bargaining. “Yeah, sure,” he murmurs, sleep already trying to claim him. He tangles their legs together and settles an arm over Keith’s waist with a yawn.


	2. To Protect Love Costs a Tender Violence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance hums, mouth quirking up in a smirk. “Worried about me?” He challenges and stretches his arms straight above his head, pulling himself into a taut line.
> 
> Keith sighs through his nose and rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. He wants to feed into to it, wants to bicker and argue with Lance because that’s familiar and easy. “Not worried,” he corrects. “But I do care about your well-being.”
> 
> Lance goes quiet, considering Keith. “Why?” He finally murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, turns out i can't leave this alone. this a non-porny interlude meant to establish where they're at with one another.
> 
> chapter title comes from, you guessed it, another poem: Lisa Russ Spaar's “Furta Sacra,” in _Orexia_.

“Alright,” Shiro’s booming voice instructs to the group. “We’re going to try the group training exercises again.”

“The one with the sentry?” Pidge asks, already standing straighter at the memory. “Or the one where we have to defend each other.”

“Both, probably,” Hunk answers solemnly. He glances to Lance, trying to catch his eye for the usual look of solidarity they share when they both know that they’re about to be put through the ringer.

But Lance is looking at Keith.

“Make sure to watch my back, yeah?” Lance teases him, reminding Keith the last time they did this exercise.

Keith shrugs up a shoulder, keeping his arms crossed and impassive. “Sure,” he agrees succinctly.

Pidge nudges Hunk, silently pointing out the lack of bickering and one-upmanship that usually happens between Lance and Keith.

“Shields up, everyone.” Shiro commands, already in position. “I’m keeping the difficulty level the same to gauge a baseline for the future.”

Hunk sighs, but follows suit and readies his arm, slotting into position next to Pidge.

Lance grins at Pidge and Hunk from behind his own transparent, bright blue shield, excited to see their improvement as a team before his eyes land on Keith again.

Keith rolls his eyes in response, wanting to just get it over with already.

“Remember,” Shiro says as they all face outward in a circle. “Protect your teammates, and they’ll protect you.”

Lance knocks his elbow into Keith’s getting his attention again before the automated drones fly up from the floor. He doesn’t say anything, instead winking at Keith with his ever-present grin.  
  
The drones lift and begin circling around the group, gaining speed in slow increments before they start blasting the electric blue beams.  
  
Their shortcomings from last time are near non-existent; Pidge and Hunk can handle their own now, keeping up with the others now that they have more combat experience. Lance and Keith focus on protecting others instead of trying to prove that they’re better than the other.  
  
They work like a team now, and the simulator responds to their skill level. The drones start to circle faster, change their shooting patterns, dropping and raising.  
  
“Shiro, jump!” Pidge yells out as they lean right to protect Hunk’s flank.  
  
Shiro follows the command immediately, feet lifting out of the way of an errant blast.  
  
As Keith stretches to protect Shiro’s blind spot Lance clamps a hand onto his shoulder, pulling him down as a blast sails over their heads.  
  
Whirling with more speed, the drones begin firing even faster, trying to trip them up. It gets to a point where it’s impossible to keep up with the machine, their stamina running thin before it shoots Pidge and Hunk down when they both go to block the same shot.  
  
Shiro, Keith, and Lance move in tighter to fill in the gap, but the simulation strikes at the weak point in their formation, shooting Keith in the back when Lance falls short to protect him.  
  
“Goddammit,” Lance curses openly, back-to-back with Shiro.  
  
Shiro grunts with effort, his usual facade of effortless capability cracking at the edges. “Steady,” he instructs. “Keep your wits about you.”  
  
Lance takes a deep steadying breath, centering himself instead of trying to mouth off.  
  
With only two of them, the simulation speeds even faster, rapid firing, and exploiting their limited defense.  
  
Lance gets shot first, the force making him flail back for balance. He crashes into Shiro, toppling them both to the floor before the simulation ends.  
  
The castle spits Lance and Shiro out to the floor below, still flat on the floor.  
  
Shiro stands quickly, offering a hand out to Lance as he looks at everyone else. “Great job, everyone.” He compliments earnestly with a proud smile. “We’re really coming along as a team.”  
  
Lance bats Shiro’s hand away, content to stretch out on the floor still. “Gimme a minute,” he sighs and folds his forearm over his eyes, taking in steady breaths and trying to slow his racing heart.  
  
“Yeah,” Hunk agrees, working out the kinks in his shoulder from when he hit the ground. “I could also use a minute.”  
  
Shiro huffs a laugh, sharing an amused smirk with Pidge and Keith. “Okay,” he agrees. “I’ll give you five. Grab some water, stretch it out, and walk it off. I’ll meet everyone back in the training room.”  
  
Lance peeks out from under his arm, looking to see Shiro leave, but instead, he finds Keith staring down at him from where he’s standing.  
  
Hunk looks to the ceiling with quiet appreciation, thankful that Shiro knows when to give them a break. “Water sounds amazing,” he grunts and with a few more rotations of his shoulder, he wanders out of the room.  
  
Pidge makes a noise through their teeth, casting a piqued glance between both Lance and Keith, eyes narrowed, obviously wanting to say something. “I’m going to see if I can find out those drones’ pattern algorithm,” they settle on and start walking toward the door.  
  
As the door slides openly automatically, Pidge shoots them one last suspicious look before leaving completely.  
  
Lance rearranges himself, putting his arms behind his head to prop it up, looking at Keith openly now that they’re alone.  
  
The silence drags between the two of them, making Lance’s skin crawl. “Yeah?” He asks finally, throwing an eyebrow up for good measure.  
  
“Are you okay?” Keith asks quietly.  
  
“What do you mean?” Lance asks in return. “Got a little harried in the end and ended up blasted in the chest,” he explains the handful of seconds after Keith got shot.  
  
Keith sighs, because he knows that Lance is dragging it out on purpose. “After last night, training today might…” He stops, face screwed up in thought as he searches for how to phrase it. He wants to get straight to the point, cut away any chance for wiggle room because Lance loves to twist words around to his own advantage. “Training would exacerbate some of your soreness and bruises,” he settles on. “How are you holding up?”  
  
“Oh, SAT word.” Lance hums, mouth quirking up in a smirk. “Worried about me?” He challenges and stretches his arms straight above his head, pulling himself into a taut line.  
  
Keith sighs through his nose and rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. He wants to feed into to it, wants to bicker and argue with Lance because that’s familiar and easy. “Not worried,” he corrects. “But I do care about your well-being.”

Lance goes quiet, considering Keith. “Why?” He finally murmured.

“Because you’re my responsibility now, in a small way, at least.” Keith answers with little hesitation. “Believe it or not, we do actually have to talk about last night,” he asserts carefully. “It goes with the territory.”  
  
“Territory?” Lance repeats.  
  
Keith nods. “Of me being your dom,” he clarifies. “It means I check in on you, see if you want to change anything, if something went too far, if you’re going through—”  
  
“I’m fine,” Lance speaks up, cutting Keith off, deigning to answer Keith’s original question. “I’ve gone through worse before,” he continues without prompting. “Training’s not going to throw me off. It can’t be any worse than anything before.” He asserts, eyes flitting away from Keith as his shoulder hunch inward. “Nothing to worry about,” he finishes lamely, finally sitting up, so he can push himself back to his full height.  
  
Keith moves, trying to get into Lance’s line of sight again. “What do you mean you’ve gone through worse before?” He asks, voice hard as his mind rushes through possibilities, each one worse than the last. From actual life or death fights, to the beating Lance took from Sendak.  
  
Lance shrugs. “We only have a couple minutes left,” he deflects. “I’m going to go grab some water before we have to tackle the gladiator.”  
  
And Lance leaves a frowning Keith behind, alone to ponder Lance’s metric for what he considered worse. A plan’s already forming, all too familiar with Lance’s deflections and cupidity for Lance to ignore problems until they go away.

— • —

“What’s up?” Hunk asks, hands full of various wires and transmitters and transistors and other gizmos. Shiro dismissed them a few hours ago, proud and satisfied with the work they put in and the noticeable progress.

Lance shrugs, eyes blinking slowly over to his best friend from where he was staring off. His head cradled in his open palm, slouched against the opposite edge of the desk. “What?” He returns, slow and lazy, the weird weight in his chest after that conversation with Keith ignorable as long as he could kick it with Hunk and avoid him. “Nothing's up.”

Hunk frowns and dumps everything down to the surface. “Something’s up,” he argues, picking up a screw driver. “You’re all…” He trails off, vaguely swirling the tool in Lance’s general direction.

“What do you mean? I’m all…” Lance grins and wiggles his fingers back at Hunk.

“I don’t know, dude.” Hunk huffs, not having the words to pin down the difference. “You’re acting weird,” he settles on after running his gaze over Lance critically. “Too chill.”

“Hella chill?” Lance questions, smile tugging even wider.

Hunk jabs the blunt side of a wrench into Lance’s thigh. “Oh my god, shut up,” he sighs. “Never mind, I don’t even care anymore.”

“I slept really well last night,” Lance explains, ignoring Hunk’s dramatics. He stretches out even more, arching his back like a cat and feeling every satisfying pop. He knows nothing’s visible under all his layers, double-checked with two mirrors that Keith hadn’t left a mark above his collar, but he feels all the bruises throb with his heart beat. The echo of spread finger tips on his hips and the bite mark between his shoulder blades still tender and raw, the good kind of sore already settled in everywhere else. “Maybe best sleep of my life.”

“Yeah, well.” Hunk mutters and actually starts working, steady hands opening up the mechanisms. He’s too used to having to work around Lance’s gangly body taking up his workspace, doesn't even try to nudge him out of the way anymore. “Doesn’t explain why Keith’s being all weird, too.”

Lance’s eyes nearly slit close, wary and suspicious all of a sudden. “What do you mean?” He presses, trying to play coy, fiddling with one of the wire connectors. “Mullet’s weirder than usual?” He asks as if he didn’t spend the second half of their training avoiding Keith’s heavy, piercing gaze.

“I don’t know,” Hunk repeats on a whine. “He’s also too chill,” he explains lamely. “You guys didn’t bicker with each other during training, either.” He shrugs again and picks up another part. “The team training was actually the best it’s ever been today.”

Lance smiles, elated that he was right about everything last night, and puts his head down on the crux of his elbows, closing his eyes: content to just hang out and listen to Hunk work. “What can I say?” He hums. “Maybe we’re just starting to learn how to gel together.”

“Yeah, sure,” Hunk snorts, willing to drop it.

— • —

Keith is sitting on Lance’s bed when he comes back to his room, completely at ease. Upon closer inspection, Lance notices that he’s not even wearing shoes and his usual gloves are missing along with his jacket. He looks the most vulnerable that Lance has ever seen.  
  
“What’s up?” Lance asks, hovering by the doorway. He can’t even remember if Keith’s been in his room before this, or if this is the first time. “You need something?”  
  
“Have you ever been in sub drop?” Keith asks, again cutting straight to the point. “Yes or no.”  
  
Lance’s face twists up and his fingers twitch, the desire to cross his arms flooding through him. “Why?” He asks instead and forces his hands to remain at his sides.  
  
“Lance,” Keith says in a low voice, one that Lance can’t help but associate with being on his knees. “Answer the question.”

The silence is overwhelmingly tense, and Keith shifts, putting a pillow on the ground by his feet. “Here,” he offers, in that same deep voice.  
  
He watches Lance take an unconscious step forward before he stops himself. “You don’t have to,” Keith acknowledges, seeing Lance weighing the options. “But you might be more comfortable during this conversation.”  
  
“Conversation?” Lance echoes, still not budging.  
  
“We have to talk about it,” Keith confirms, keeping steady and level, shoulders lax with his hands on his knees.  
  
Lance laughs loudly, but it sounds forced and fake. “Wow, what a change, you’re the one that wants to talk for once.”  
  
“I do,” Keith nods, not rising to the bait. “Either you stand or kneel or sit, but we’re going to talk about this.”  
  
“What do you want to know, exactly?” Lance asks, voice smaller now as he starts to ball his fists in the extra material of his jacket sleeves.  
  
“If you’ve experienced sub drop before,” Keith answers easily. “I don’t need to know how many people you’ve been with, but I’d like to get more of an idea of what you like and need from a dom. We still need to discuss last night, too.”  
  
Lance’s steps are stilted as he moves closer, but Keith takes it as a win. As he toes the edge of the pillow Keith set down, he considers what to do.  
  
Keith stays quiet, goes as far as to not look at Lance to let him decide what he wants. He waits, letting Lance figure it out before pressing for answers.  
  
“Okay…” Lance mutters and kicks off his shoes and slides his own jacket off before sinking to his knees, keeping his eyes to the floor.  
  
Keith reaches out, combing his fingers through Lance’s hair before guiding him to rest his forehead against his thigh. “Sub drop,” he reminds Lance, prompting him.  
  
Lance takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. “Yeah,” he answers slowly after a few beats of silence. “I’ve gone through sub drop before,” he admits, confirming Keith’s suspicion.  
  
“By yourself?” Keith clarifies.  
  
“Yeah, uhm…” Lance starts to answer, taking another deep breath. “We’d just finished, and she had to kick me out,” he explains. “I think her roommate had just come back or something and I didn’t get any type of come down from it.”  
  
Keith hums, knowing that Lance can’t see him nod. He keeps stroking Lance’s hair, rewarding him for being open about his experiences.  
  
“I obviously didn’t like that,” Lance mutters, continuing. “I haven’t done this with anyone I knew before.”  
  
“Your doms were all strangers?” Keith asks, hand freezing as he realizes the amount of danger that Lance exposed himself to, the possibility of someone taking advantage of his naivety.  
  
Lance shrugs, his shoulder butting up against Keith’s calf. “I mean, yeah?” He hazards. “I wasn’t friends with any of them before bringing it up. I just went to certain clubs, seeking them out,” he explains. “Most of my knowledge came from researching stuff on the internet before that.”

“What are some things that you liked from that?” Keith asks, trying to stay on track rather than reprimand Lance for past behavior.  
  
“I don’t know,” Lance says. “The disposable feeling of it? I didn’t have to worry about someone trying to psychoanalyze my problems or try to tell me I shouldn’t do it after something happened, because none of them knew my problems or knew me enough to know if something did happen,” he finishes, voice thick.  
  
“Not the healthiest coping mechanism,” Keith quotes Lance’s own words back to himself, hand moving through Lance’s hair again, thumb pausing to rub circles along his scalp. “And I’m the complete opposite of all that, huh?”  
  
“Yeah,” Lance agrees. “You know me, go through the same stuff most of the time, too.”  
  
“Does that scare you?” Keith questions. “That we’re friends?”  
  
Lance shrugs again. “I’m not used to doms caring about me beyond the scene,” he admits. “At most checking over any marks they made before giving me a water bottle, telling me they had fun, and then showing me the door.”  
  
“I get that,” Keith accepts easily. “But that’s not how I operate.”

“Yeah,” Lance sighs. “You let me cuddle you and everything.”  
  
Keith huffs a laugh at that. “Did you like that?” He asks before thinking better of it. “Tell me what you liked about last night, and anything you wish had gone differently or things you didn’t like.”  
  
“That’s a lot,” Lance complains, shifting to blink up at Keith, jostling Keith’s hand in his hair.  
  
“One at a time, then.” Keith compromises easily. “What did you like?”  
  
“Everything,” Lance says immediately. “The manhandling, when you made me cry, when you punished me…” He trails off, mind going hazy as he thinks about it.  
  
“Anything you’d change?” Keith prompts, bringing Lance back from the memory.  
  
“I want you to come in me next time,” Lance says, hopeful and small again.  
  
Keith’s hand tenses for half a second at that suggestion before he reminds himself that everything about this is meant for Lance. “Anything else?”  
  
“More biting.” Lance hums. “I like feeling the bruises after.”  
  
“Last one,” Keith encourages, sweeping his thumb down to Lance’s nape, thumb pressing into the tendon. He’s normally have done this last night, but he let Lance go to sleep instead, didn’t bother to keep him awake just to massage out any knots in his neck from being in that position for too long. “Anything you didn’t like?”  
  
Lance shakes his head, a noise rumbling from the back of his throat. “Nothing I can think of,” he finally settles on. “You followed every guideline I had.”  
  
“If you think of anything later, tell me.” Keith commands. “That goes for everything, if you think of anything you want to try next time, I’ll make it work.”  
  
Lance’s shoulders relax even more, putting more weight against Keith. “Thank you,” he murmurs after a handful of silent moments.  
  
“You’re welcome,” Keith returns, hand moving to the other side.  
  
The silence hangs comfortably now that Keith got Lance’s feedback and what the experience was like for him. He’s content to keep touching Lance in the gentle way he deserves, focusing on his neck, fingertips only barely dipping under the collar of his t-shirt before Lance shifts to prop his chin on Keith’s thigh.  
  
“Hey...” he starts in that mild, imploring voice. Tone full of subtle craving that can only mean he’s about to ask for something he thinks Keith won’t give him. “Can we kiss, too?” He quickly reaches out, grasping at the extra denim at Keith’s ankle. “Not now,” he’s hasty to clarify. “Next time, I mean.”  
  
Keith leans forward, hand sliding down the back of Lance’s shirt. He presses his palm over the bruise he made, knows where it is exactly from memory, but the skin runs hotter between Lance’s shoulder blades. “Really?” He teases. “Kissing’s the thing that makes you shy? Not everything else we’ve done?”  
  
Lance’s ears get dark before pink blooms on his cheeks and across his nose. “Never mind,” he declares huffily. “I don’t to kiss you anymore.”  
  
Keith grabs him by the chin with his free hand and tugs him closer. “Yes, you do,” he argues, their noses brushing against each other, warm air simmering between them.  
  
Lance’s mouth drops open in response, eyes already half-lidded as he presses himself flush against the side of the bed, between Keith’s knees. “Please,” he utters on a sigh, too soft to actually hear, Keith only feels the phantom touch of it against his lips.  
  
And Keith smirks, holding back for a beat before he closes the gap; giving Lance exactly what he wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and as always: you can find me on [tumblr](http://acespaceacepilot.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/SgtKarma). come hang out with me, i swear i'll show you stuff i'm working on if you strike up some conversation.

**Author's Note:**

> Please drop me a comment, or come yell at me on [tumblr](http://acespaceacepilot.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/sgtkarma?lang=en).


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